


Garden City Movement

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Sehun starts his senior year of college with a new roommate – Jongin, a dancer who has one too many demons to fight.





	Garden City Movement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted on LJ in **2015**. Apart from a quick read through to fix typos and stuff, **I did not edit much of the fic**.

He really should have seen this coming. It happens every damn year.

There’s a small tower of boxes rolling amiably down the ever-so-slightly-sloped hallway on a small flatbed trolley, and the owner is too busy chatting up a sorority girl – who looks like she would give less fucks if she weren’t already at an astounding number of 0 – to notice. Groaning, Sehun sticks out a foot and hopes that it’s enough to stop physics from happening. His arms are full with his own stuff, and there's an empty water bottle threatening to topple over the edge of the box. If it falls, it'll land right on his pinky toe.

The trolley isn't moving fast enough and Sehun thinks his foot is about to cramp up. But right before he’s about to throw in the towel in his attempt at being a good Samaritan, someone’s arm appears in his peripheral vision and reaches out to stop the trolley in its tracks.

“Do you need some help?”

The actual good Samaritan’s voice is deep and gentle, and Sehun twists his head around the boxes in his hands to try and catch a glimpse of his face. An attractive face with softly chiseled features looks back at him, a hand still pushing back against the weight of the tower of boxes. The other’s grasping at the handle of his own trolley.

“Yes, actually,” Sehun says, nudging the door to his room open with his hip. “Could you wait just one second? Let me just drop my stuff off here and I’ll bring those back to their rightful owner.”

“Sure,” comes the reply, and Sehun deposits his things by the foot of his bed quickly.

“Thanks –”

“Wait; is this your room?”

Sehun twists the trolley around and looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah, it is.”

“Oh. Then, I guess I’m your new roommate.”

From the way his new roommate is peering into their dorm room, Sehun figures out pretty quickly that he’s new.

“It’s not a great big room, but it’s quite comfortable. If you’d like the other bed, just let me know, alright? I’m Sehun, by the way. Nice to meet you!”

He doesn’t get a chance to wait for his roommate’s reply before someone’s yelling his name from up the hallway. Judging by the look on the guy’s face, he’s just been brutally rejected by the sorority girl. Poor guy. Sehun passes the trolley back to him and accepts the (unintentionally) forceful smack of thanks across his back with grace.

By the time Sehun gets back to his room, his new roommate’s nowhere to be found. There’s a modest pile of five boxes by the second desk, and a hoodie’s slung casually across the back of the accompanying desk chair.

Shrugging, Sehun closes the door to the room, plugs his iPhone into his trusty portable speaker, and gets to unpacking his things. He’s got way too many clothes for his own good, and he can only hope that his new roommate won’t mind too much when some start to spread and migrate across the room as the year progresses. As that thought passes, he promptly grimaces at the memory of his uptight roommate last year – specifically, the grating shriek that would escape his throat whenever an item of Sehun’s would appear on his side of the room.

Sehun had tried his very best to reason with the guy, but by the second month, he’d given up on him and resorted to discovering new ways of blocking that nasally voice out whenever he’d go into one of his tirades. The odds should be in his favour this year, right? What are the chances that he’s paired with another insufferable roommate?

He’s in the middle of stuffing a pile of beanies into the tiny, tiny dresser when the door swings open.

“ – fine, Mom. I’ll call you soon.”

A heavy sigh escapes plush lips, and a phone is tossed onto a bed.

“Worried mother?” Sehun asks knowingly.

“Yeah,” his roommate groans, slumping into his chair. “Very worried mother.”

Grunting, Sehun forces the drawer shut and leans back against the side of his bed. “They’ll ease up soon enough, trust me.”

He gets an ambivalent smile in response.

“I’m Jongin, by the way. It’s nice to meet you too.”

 

 

 

  
The first month of classes flashes by inexplicably fast, and by the second month, Sehun’s ready to buy a case of Jack Daniels and drown face down in all the liquor. Those who claim that senior year is the easiest out of the four are _liars_.

He stumbles into his room on Thursday night, feet horribly tired and refusing to function after three hours of volleyball practice, and promptly collapses into a heap by the foot of his bed.

“I’m done,” he declares, and Jongin swivels around on his chair in order to stare at Sehun. “So done.”

Flipping onto his back, Sehun slings an arm across his eyes and tries not to register the feeling of his sweaty, sticky skin of his forearm pressing against the equally sweaty, sticky skin of his eyelids. Who knew _eyelids_ could sweat this much?

“Take a shower,” Jongin suggests helpfully, and Sehun fights the urge to make a sad, painful sound in the back of his throat. He hears a page of a book being turned, and Sehun can only imagine what dusty classic Jongin’s checked out of the library this time.

It had taken him three solid days to figure out that Jongin doesn’t care how messy their room is – unless messy turns into dirty –, and that Jongin is the biggest bookworm he’s ever known. Granted, those are the only two bits of information he’d managed to deduce over the past few weeks, but hey, he’s been busy.

“Hey,” he starts, and Jongin replies with a soft, noncommittal sound. Everything about Jongin seems to be soft and gentle. Somehow, Sehun doubts that’s true. “What are you majoring in?”

“Specialising in dance,” Jongin replies easily. He doesn’t ask for the reason behind Sehun’s curiosity, nor does he ask for Sehun’s own course of study. Five minutes later, Sehun pulls himself to his feet and spends another half an hour standing under jets of hot, hot water.

There’s nice, ambient music filling the empty spaces in the room when Sehun steps out of the tiny bathroom, a towel-covered hand rubbing his hair dry.

“I like your music taste,” Sehun comments, shimmying into a pair of sweatpants and pulling out his biochemistry textbook. His chair creaks slightly under the sudden impact of his weight, and the sound seems to rip jaggedly through the music. Jongin doesn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks – I’ll make you a mixtape someday,” Jongin says, and Sehun starts on his homework feeling a little more tranquil than usual.

 

 

 

  
It’s a week to midterms and the term **GLUCONEOGENESIS** seems to be tattooed across the inside of his eyelids – every time he blinks it flashes even brighter. Yixing, on the other hand, is sitting across from him in the university’s café with the calmest look on his face. His textbook on East Asian history is cracked open in front of him, but based on the steady tapping of his foot and the relaxed slope of his shoulders, Sehun would’ve guessed his best friend was reading a comic book if he didn’t know any better.

Sehun whips out his phone, opens Snapchat, and takes a picture of an unknowing Yixing. He captions it _how to be calm during midterms week 101_  and draws bright red question marks all around Yixing’s head. He sets it as his story.

“I’m going to fail this midterm,” Sehun says balefully. **GLUCONEOGENESIS** continues staring at him from the pages of his textbook.

“You say that before every single midterm,” Yixing voices, highlighting a line in his notebook. It comes out crooked and Yixing shrugs to himself. “You’ve kept a 3.8 GPA through two years, I’m sure you can maintain it until the end of this semester.”

Sehun hates it when Yixing bests him in argumets. Sighing in resignation, Sehun gulps down another mouthful of coffee and reluctantly diverts his attention back to the very demanding **GLUCONEOGENESIS**. But before he sets his pen to paper, his phone buzzes. It’s a Snapchat notification from Jongin.

It’s a blurry picture of what seems to be a dance studio, and Sehun can just make out the tips of a pair of pointe shoes in the corner of the picture. The caption reads _there’s a mixtape for you on your desk_.

Sehun takes a picture of the smiley face the barista had drawn onto his coffee cup and sends it to Jongin.

 

 

 

  
The first time it happens, it takes an abnormally long time for Sehun’s brain to register the fact that it is _actually_ happening, and for it to wake Sehun up. As Sehun’s gradually roused into consciousness, the screaming coming from his right gets progressively louder. When Sehun realises that Jongin is having what appears to be the worst nightmare he’s ever had, he scrambles out of bed and into Jongin’s.

Jongin is thrashing erratically in his sleep, limbs moving with a mixture of terror and grace that can only come from being a dancer. There’s a red pinprick of light blinking ominously from the fire detector above their heads. After a brief struggle, Sehun manages to pin Jongin’s arms down by his side before he heaves Jongin’s entire torso up against his chest.

“Hey,” Sehun calls loudly, shaking his roommate firmly. “Jongin, wake up. It’s just a bad dream, okay? It’s okay, nothing’s hurting you, I promise. _Wake up, Jongin_.”

When he feels fingers curl tightly around his knees, Sehun stops his shaking. Jongin’s awake, and he’s dry heaving into his own lap. Keeping a steady arm around Jongin’s trembling chest, Sehun pushes damp hair away from Jongin’s clammy forehead and tries to soothe him with hushed words of comfort.

“Are you okay?” Sehun asks, carefully. After a few minutes, Jongin’s calmed down considerably, his chest no longer heaving, although the grip around Sehun’s knees is still vice-like.

“Better,” Jongin mumbles. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Jongin takes a deep breath and loosens his hold on Sehun. “I’m just gonna go take a quick shower.”

Nodding, Sehun gets out of Jongin’s bed and back into his own. He keeps a watchful eye on his roommate as Jongin gathers up a new change of clothes and his towel before disappearing into the shower. Sehun doesn’t close his eyes until he hears the water shut off, and he doesn’t try to fall back asleep until he hears Jongin’s breathing even out once more.

The next morning, Sehun wakes up just as Jongin’s about to leave for class. Jongin simply sends him a thankful smile before he exits. That night, neither of them bring up Jongin’s nightmare from the night before. In fact, they don’t talk about it until it happens a few more times over the next couple of weeks.

 

 

 

  
The first thing Jongin does when he wakes up from his sixth nightmare in three weeks is to gasp for air and apologise. It’s a slight change in the routine, in which Sehun holds Jongin until the latter wakes and collects himself, followed by Jongin retreating into the shower and Sehun waiting until Jongin’s asleep again before closing his own eyes.

“Why are you apologising?” Sehun asks, swiping a bunch of napkins from the bedside table and dabbing off excess sweat from Jongin’s forehead. “You don’t need to apologise for something like this.”

“We’re in the middle of midterms and I know you have another one coming up soon; you should be getting rest, but because of me you’re –”

“It’s alright,” Sehun interjects. “Really. It’s no problem at all.”

Jongin exhales and swallows. His tongue seems heavier than usual.

“Do you want to go take a shower now? I’ll –”

“Wait.”

 _Wait_ translates to _stay with me and hold me for a little longer_ , as Sehun learns instantly. Jongin presses the pads of his thumbs against the corners of his eyes and breathes.

“I get these nightmares a lot,” Jongin begins. His heart rate speeds up of its own accord, and Jongin wills it to slow down. He’s never told anyone the reason behind his nightmares voluntarily. His mother had forced it out of him, and his psychiatrist had done the exact same.

Behind him, Sehun simply adjusts his position slightly, holding onto Jongin the entire time.

“I’ve been doing better at managing them, but during periods of stress, they tend to get the better of me. Midterms are ongoing, so…”

Sehun hums understandingly, and the sound spurs Jongin on.

“Two years ago, when I was a junior in college, my ex-boyfriend started abusing me. It wasn’t serious to begin with, just open-handed slaps and smacks that wouldn’t leave any bruises or marks for people to see. But as months passed, it accelerated out of my control. He used anything he could get his hands on – chairs, glasses, belts, cigarette butts. You name it, he’s used it. But I stayed with him; out of fear or love, I didn’t really know. When he fractured my tibia days before my dance final senior year, however, I knew I had to leave. I never knew leaving would be so easy and so _liberating_. It took me the better part of a year to get my body back into shape, but I did it. I could dance again. I transferred here, started senior year all over just for that taste of a fresh start.”

The sweat on Jongin’s skin has long since evaporated, leaving behind a clamminess that's just slightly uncomfortable to the touch. Sehun, however, doesn’t seem to mind the feeling.

“Yet, when you’ve been through something like that, you can never really have a fresh start, you know? I try to make the best of it though – everyone here has been great and that constant underlying river of fear in me is slowly drying up. The nightmares will get better, I promise, once midterms are over and the stress fades away.”

“You don’t have to hold it in if you can’t,” Sehun replies, squeezing Jongin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me – put yourself first. I’ll always be here to hold you if you need me to, alright? Now go shower, I doubt you’d want to fall asleep feeling all damp and stuff.”

Smiling, Jongin gets out of bed.

 

 

 

  
Dance studios have always been a source of comfort for Jongin. There’s something about the way the floors continue to gleam and shine despite the fathomless number of times they get stepped on with every passing day, month, and year. There’s something about how the mirrors reflect nothing but the truth, pointing out both mistakes and successes. There’s something about how the barre will always be there if you need support, but will never trail behind you on your heels.

Jongin goes to the dance studios in-between his elective courses and during whatever spare time he has. He’ll plug in his iPod and run through his old senior year routine that he had so desperately wanted to perform at his graduation showcase but didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Sometimes it’ll be the only routine he dances for a solid hour, but sometimes he’ll simply dance it once before moving on to something newer and brighter.

His pointe shoes are always in his bag, although he doesn’t spend too much time on pointe work. They’re in dire need of a replacement, however, for they’ve been with him since he graduated from high school.

Today, he’s got a two-hour break. As he steps into the empty dance studio at the end of the hallway, he fights the urge to plug in his iPod and dance his way through The Routine with the help of stellar muscle memory. Instead, he pulls out a copy of the mixtape he’d made for Sehun and slots it into the stereo system positioned in the corner of the room.

If he really wants a new beginning, perhaps he should start with choreographing a brand new senior year routine.

 

 

 

  
The term _winter break_ should really be renamed to something along the lines of _three weeks in winter that is intended for relaxation, but here’s a buttload of work anyway_. It’s the day before the break, and there are doors slamming shut up and down the hallway every fifteen minutes as someone leaves for a nice warm vacation in the Bahamas or the like. Grumbling, Sehun flips a page of his textbook viciously.

“Hey.”

Sehun looks up from his work and sees Jongin stepping inside, sports bag slung over a shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere for the break?”

Jongin shakes his head. “I’d rather not go back for a bit,” he says. Sehun understands.

“You?”

Sighing, Sehun turns around in his chair and stretches out his legs. “Can’t. I have practice 4 days a week, and I have a research project to carry out.”

“We’ll both be busy, it seems,” Jongin says, emptying his sports bag onto his desk. Sehun catches sight of the pointe shoes.

“You do pointe work?”

Jongin glances down at the shoes. “Not usually. Not anymore. I’ve just kept them with me. I think it’s time to throw them away.”

Sehun doesn’t need to ask why. Instead he chooses to say, “I think you should let me watch you dance sometime.”

“If I get to go to one of your games,” Jongin bargains. At that, Sehun looks properly affronted.

“I write down all my games on my board!” He spins around and points at the tiny whiteboard resting against the wall above his desk. “Have you not gone to a single game yet?”

“How am I supposed to go to one of your games when I can barely see the whiteboard as it is?” Jongin teases, snatching up his towel. “Next time, just tell me. I’ll go.”

As he walks towards the bathroom, Jongin drops the pointe shoes into the rubbish bin along the way. Sehun waits until the door shuts behind Jongin before picking one up. He makes a quick note of the shoe’s size.

 

 

 

  
In the end, Sehun finds himself following Jongin to the dance studios on one of his rare days off. Jongin had promised to go to one of Sehun’s practices the next day. Light snow is drifting down from the pale sky, and some cling to the strands of Jongin’s hair. Sehun tugs his hood lower down over his eyes and absently brushes snow off the crown of Jongin’s head. Jongin shrinks away from the touch, startled, and Sehun stares back at him, mouth ajar.

“I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… there was snow on your head, and I –”

“It’s okay,” Jongin cuts in. “Really. I’m just not too good with sudden movements as of yet.”

He pulls the door to the Arts building open and gestures for Sehun to enter. As Sehun passes him, he reaches out and squeezes Sehun’s arm reassuringly.

“So what do you do every day? Do you work on the same piece?”

Jongin sets his bag down on a chair and shrugs off his jacket.

“I’m choreographing something new for my final assessment,” Jongin says. “Don’t really want to use my old piece.”

Sehun leans back against the wall and watches as Jongin slides a disc into the stereo and approaches the barre. Something lights up inside him when the first note plays.

“Isn’t this the mixtape you made me?”

“Yeah,” Jongin answers. “It’s one of my favourites out of all the ones I’ve made. Did you like it?”

Waiting until Jongin’s eyes find his through one of the mirrors, Sehun nods. Jongin smiles, seemingly pleased, and continues stretching. A serene cloud of silence falls into the air around them, the music coming from the sound system the only sound adding facets to the space they’re in.

Jongin dances like the sanity of his soul depends on it. He’s hyperaware of every extension his body makes, every constriction and tightening of his core, and of the rush of air around his frame when he pushes off the ground into leaps and turns. Every inch of Jongin is captivating to watch, and Sehun doesn’t quite know where to focus on.

He doesn’t expect it when Jongin stops suddenly, chest heaving from exertion. He lifts an arm and wipes at the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

“That’s all I’ve got so far,” Jongin pants, “what do you think?”

“I think,” Sehun begins, “that it’s beautiful.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s too much? I feel as though I’m trying a little too hard to push myself into this mindset of starting over.”

“You don’t have to define a new start,” Sehun says, “you just need to feel it.”

 

 

 

  
It’s the second Sunday in February, and Sehun’s squished between Yixing and Zitao with barely any space to move his fingers. They’re in a packed-tighter-than-sardines family Chinese restaurant downtown, and Sehun thinks he’d really enjoy the food if he could just angle his chopsticks…

Somehow, he manages to consume enough food to keep his stomach from rumbling every ten seconds. As Baekhyun bickers with Jongdae across the wobbling table, Sehun drags his phone out of his pocket and sends a Snapchat of the food to Jongin.

_would you like some food?_

Jongin’s reply is instant. He’s in the dance studio again, but he’s a got a Tupperware full of fried rice in his lap.

_coincidentally, i have chinese food too._

“Stop texting your significant other,” Chanyeol calls across the table, managing to land a kick to Sehun’s shin. Rolling his eyes, Sehun stuffs his phone back into his pocket before Zitao can weasel it out of his grasp and attempt to snoop through his messages.

“I don’t have a significant other,” Sehun says, reaching out for a dumpling.

“You should probably get one,” Chanyeol replies. “Your biological clock is ticking.”

Sehun chooses to ignore the jibe (he’s still young, damnit) and chews on his food.

On the way back to campus, Sehun turns Chanyeol’s words over and over in his head. Yixing, too concentrated on one of his mobile games, doesn’t seem to notice.

It _has_ been quite a while since he’s had a significant other, Sehun admits begrudgingly to himself as he stares out the bus window. He’s just never had the time or energy to deal with it. Maybe it’s time for him to find some time and energy. Next to him, Yixing groans at his screen and jabs at it incessantly.

 

 

 

  
He’s slightly late, but better late than never right? Jongin slips into the gym and waits until the ball’s been served before walking around the court and scouring for a seat in the bleachers. The gym’s packed, and Jongin counts his lucky stars when he finds an empty seat by the side.

There’s something about the way Sehun moves on court that reminds Jongin of a dancer on stage. Everything’s coordinated, executed perfectly, and the exhilaration seeping out of Sehun is almost tangible. When Sehun scores a point and turns to hug one of his teammates, Jongin smiles.

This warmth, this sense of contentment within himself, Jongin thinks, is new. It _feels_ new.

 

 

 

  
Jongin’s nightmares have stopped occurring as frequently as before. They’re down to just a couple per month at the worst, and Sehun discovers new aspects (or returning?) of Jongin that he’s never known before. The dancer doesn’t usually laugh – Sehun can count the number of times Jongin’s laughed out loud on his fingers. But he's laughing a lot more now, and when he does laugh, he laughs _exuberantly_. Eyes crinkle and a nice, even set of teeth are put on display. In fact, Sehun finds out that Jongin has a habit of rocking back in his seat and slapping the poor person next to him when he laughs – Sehun takes the smacks in stride.

He’s also gotten much more comfortable with physical contact, even with strangers. Accidental brushes of skin against skin no longer set Jongin off, and he’ll even initiate contact on occasions.

Despite the decrease in the number of nightmares, however, Sehun’s become fine-tuned to any sounds Jongin makes while asleep. Anything that sounds remotely uncomfortable or distressful will promptly rouse Sehun from the depths of sleep, and he’ll keep his ears pricked for a sign of an impending nightmare. Most of the time, a nightmare doesn’t spring forth, and Sehun will fall back asleep a few minutes after. But when it does, those one or two times a month, Sehun will slip into Jongin’s bed and soothe his roommate back into a dreamless sleep.

When Jongin wakes up the next morning after these nights and spies Sehun asleep next to him with an arm thrown around his waist, he’ll whisper a few words of gratitude into the small space between them before carefully getting out of bed and pulling the covers further up Sehun’s bare shoulders. Sehun never mentions any of Jongin’s nightmares, and for that, Jongin is also thankful.

As the end of senior year draws closer, however, Jongin finds his stress levels peaking once more. A month before he’s due to be tested on his senior dance piece, he wakes up to find tears tracking down his face and a desperate need for air. It takes him a few moments to become aware of the fact that his cheek is pillowed against the solidness of Sehun’s chest, and there are calming fingers threading through his hair.

“Breathe,” Sehun’s voice says. Jongin feels it reverberating.

“Sehun,” Jongin begins, breath short. “I want to show you my finished dance piece.”

Sehun doesn’t point out the fact that it’s 3 in the morning. Instead, he pulls on a sweater and tugs on his shoes. Jongin wonders how he’s suddenly gotten so lucky.

 

 

 

  
“That was amazing, Jongin,” Sehun says, tugging on the hem of his shirt as he stands. “It really is.”

Jongin stops the music and turns to look at his roommate. “You told me that starting over can never really be defined as a moment in time. That I’ll know when I feel it. I know what that feeling is, Sehun. It’s you. It’s everything about you. It’s the way you’re willing to give up sleep for me when I’m not even lucid. It’s the way you send me pictures of your day just because you want to share them with _me_. It’s the way you support me but let me grow and get stronger all by myself. This dance is you – it’s what you make me feel.”

The second hand of the clock on the wall ticks away. There’s a bead of sweat travelling down the slope of Jongin’s neck, and Sehun watches it disappear into the collar of his sweatshirt.

“I like you, Jongin.”

Jongin stares.

Laughing, Sehun strides over to the stereo and retrieves the mixtape. Then, walking over to the door with it in his hands, Sehun tilts his head.

“Let’s go home.”

Jongin follows, but right before they turn the corner, Jongin grabs the crook of Sehun’s elbow and spins him around. Sehun gazes down into Jongin’s eyes, patient. A moment ago, they were simply breathing in shared air, but just a second later and Jongin’s got his fingers locked behind Sehun’s neck, holding the base of Sehun’s skull in place as he tilts his head a little more. He presses his lips against Sehun’s slightly thinner ones, relaxing considerably when Sehun closes the distance between their chests and nips at Jongin’s lip.

Exhaling through his nose, Jongin cracks his eyes open and chances a look at how Sehun’s eyelashes fan out against the curve of his cheeks. His heart is pounding away behind his ribcage, and it has been so long since it’s beaten this fast for any other reason besides fear. Parting his lips just that much more, he tugs Sehun’s bottom lip in-between his own and sucks ever-so-gently.

Something comparable to a whimper escapes Sehun’s throat, and Jongin manages to chance another taste of Sehun with a quick flick of his tongue before Sehun pulls back, flushed.

“We should go home,” Sehun suggests again, pupils slightly blown.

“Yeah, okay,” Jongin agrees, but pulls Sehun’s face back down towards his own again. There are fingers gripping at the back of his shirt, and Jongin doesn’t remember the last time he’s made someone weak in the knees. It feels absolutely intoxicating, and the taste of Sehun is even more so.

 

 

 

  
“You have a game tonight, don’t you?” Jongin murmurs, nosing his way down the side of Sehun’s neck. Sehun simply sighs, nods, and dives down for another kiss. The athlete’s settled in Jongin’s lap with a knee hooked around a taut waist. Their shirts have long been tossed onto the floor, and Jongin runs his palms up and down Sehun’s sinewy back. Gentle rocking – courtesy of Sehun – sends pleasurable shivers all throughout their crotch areas, and Sehun thanks all the gods for the material of thin sweatpants. Jongin sucks a hickey just below Sehun’s collarbone, and Sehun doesn’t even care if it slips into view during his game.

“You should sleep,” Jongin continues, slipping fingertips past the waistband of Sehun’s pants and brushing them over the curve of his ass. “You need to be at your best.”

“Keep touching me,” Sehun says instead, and grinds his erection down on Jongin’s just as he slips a finger down between Sehun’s asscheeks.

Dropping a kiss on the curve of Sehun’s shoulder, Jongin exerts just the slightest amount of pressure onto Sehun’s entrance. Sehun’s hips buck involuntarily, and he chokes down a moan as he lets his head hang. Jongin rubs in time with Sehun’s shallow thrusts, and it doesn’t take long for Sehun to come inside his pants, back arching and Jongin’s name tumbling out from kiss-swollen lips.

Sehun gets Jongin off with deft fingers, and Jongin bites down on the same shoulder when he comes, fingers reflexively digging into the supple flesh of Sehun’s ass at the same time. Sehun exhales.

“Let me hold you this time,” Jongin says when they’ve shucked the rest of their clothes off and cleaned up considerably.

Willing, Sehun lets Jongin fold his arms around his chest. He falls asleep with the sweet musk of Jongin’s skin flooding his senses.

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s last volleyball season of his undergrad life ends with a silver medal and a decently sized trophy. He could’ve done better – he could have angled his spikes better and timed his blocks better. But when he finally manages to break free from the huddle with his teammates, he spies Jongin standing alongside his group of friends, and he thinks that he’s done enough.

“Thanks for coming all the way here,” Sehun says, grinning and giving all his friends a sweaty hug. Baekhyun is the only one who grimaces and makes a show of wiping traces of second-hand sweat off his arms, but Sehun knows he doesn’t mean it.

“Congrats,” Jongin says, “you were great up there.”

The sincerity in his words bring a tinge of red to Sehun’s cheeks, and he tightens his hold on Jongin’s hand.

“Are you not going to introduce us,” Zitao says, shaking his head.

“This is Jongin,” Sehun says, a little flustered. “My roommate.”

Yixing’s lips form an O.

“So you’re the guy that seems to cheer Sehun up more than I can nowadays. I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

Sehun turns beet red at that, and Jongin laughs.

“What –” Sehun tries, but Yixing huffs.

“Whenever you’re with me studying you’re always stressed and gloomy and all that, but you seem to perk up right after receiving messages from him. Doesn’t take a lot to piece it together that he means a lot to you. I’m your best friend, and I’m also very observant, Sehun. You should know that by now.”

To say that Yixing had rendered Sehun speechless would be a great understatement.

 

 

 

  
The night before Jongin's due to perform, Sehun gives him a nondescript cardboard box. Inside lies a brand new pair of pointe shoes.

"You don't have to use them or anything," Sehun says, settling down onto the bed next to Jongin. "Just bring them with you?"

"I will," Jongin replies, running a finger along a seam. "Thank you, Sehun."

 

 

 

  
The spotlights are uncomfortably warm on his skin and Jongin hates how the floor of the stage is much too springy under the balls of his feet, but it’ll have to do. It’ll have to do because he’s waited for this day for two whole years, and he’ll be damned if squeaky floorboards and a little heat energy take this moment away from him. It’s happened once, and once is all it’ll ever amount to.

Jongin takes a deep breath. The space around him is heavy, pressing down on his shoulders and against his chest. He can feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, but light hits him square in the face and he can barely see ten feet before him.

Right before the music starts, he hears a faint cheer that sounds too much like Sehun for it to not be him. The weight on his chest lightens somewhat, and he exhales deeply, lungs emptying just as the first beat of his track drops.

The next couple of minutes seem to surge past him in extensions, contractions, and pulses of his muscles. When he hits the main transition in the middle of his routine, Jongin takes a few seconds to focus on the steady thrum of his heart and the beading of sweat on his forehead and down the back of his neck. He chances a glances at the audience right as the spotlights’ filters switch – his gaze somehow lands on a face that is, quite literally, painfully familiar.

But Jongin cannot afford to watch his efforts vanish right before his eyes again, so he throws himself right back into his routine when the transitional break ends. Despite not being able to see the audience any longer, Jongin can _feel_ those eyes on him – for a moment, it feels as though he’s right back where it started all those years ago.

Amongst those present in the crowd, Sehun is the only one who notices the light in Jongin’s eyes shutter off. But with no reason to suspect that something’s happened, Sehun brushes it aside and continues watching Jongin dance with rapt attention.

The end of the routine couldn’t come soon enough. Jongin comes out of a double _tours en l'air_ into an arabesque, and sprints downstage before proceeding to leap into a _grand jeté en avant_. He hits his finish stance as the music stops, arms coming to rest in fourth position _port de bras_ as he lands on one knee. One second, two seconds, three seconds… he stays steady until the spotlights shut off.

Then, he gets up and runs backstage. He slams into something or someone along the way, but he doesn’t care. All that matters right now is getting his things and going someplace safe until the show’s ending before his nightmare catches up with him.

 

 

 

  
There’s a voice coming from the dressing room that Sehun doesn’t recognise, but he assumes it’s another dancer as he pulls out his phone to send Jongin a text. He’s about to send the message when he hears Jongin’s voice.

“Get out. That’s the last time I’m going to dignify you with a response.”

“Come on, it’s been such a tough year without you – don’t I at least deserve five minutes of your time?”

“I’ve given you one too many minutes as it is. Leave – _don’t touch me!_ ”

That’s all it takes for Sehun to realise who it is and the potential danger of the situation. He enters the room without knocking, and another dancer who’s in the room seems to heave a sigh of relief.

“Thank god,” the dancer mutters as he stands and hurries towards the door. He pauses by Sehun’s side. “This guy gives me really bad vibes man, just saying.”

As the dancer exits the dressing room, Sehun turns towards the man standing opposite Jongin.

“I think you should leave,” Sehun says, shoving his hands into his back pockets in an attempt to prevent them from balling up.

A bark of laughter echoes throughout the room, and Jongin flinches visibly. “Who the fuck are you? This is none of your business; why don’t you get your nosy little shithead out of my conversation and –”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Sehun replies icily, “so this shithead has every right to tell you to fuck off.”

Jongin silently reaches for his bag. Just as he’s about to walk towards Sehun, however, a hand grabs one of the bag’s straps and yanks.

Jongin loses his footing and almost falls, but a well-timed grab onto the edge of a table keeps him upright. This, however, sends Sehun’s temper through the roof. His hands slip out of his pockets, and he’s _so_ ready to sink a fist into the guy’s face when the door to the dressing room opens and a stream of dancers enter.

No one seems to notice the keyed up atmosphere, spreading out to various dressing tables as they chat between themselves about the success of the show. Jongin wrenches his bag out of his ex’s grip, and walks straight towards Sehun.

“Come,” he says softly, tugging on Sehun’s hand.

“Hey, Jongin!” One of the dancers call, “loved your routine!”

Jongin smiles in response, the curve of his lips a little strained. “Thank you. Curtain call soon, right?”

He gets several hollers of confirmation, and Jongin thanks them all before leaving the dressing room, Sehun in tow.

“Did he touch you?” There’s a stream of fiery rage lacing Sehun’s words, and Jongin just really wants to hold him and tell him that it’s alright. But now is not the time. “Did he fucking –”

“No,” Jongin cuts in, “he didn’t. He didn’t touch me at all.”

“If I see him anywhere near you, I swear –”

“You won’t do anything,” Jongin says. He stops walking and turns Sehun around to face him. “Nothing at all, you hear me?”

Sehun looks down at him incredulously. “How can you expect me not to do anything if that son of a bitch is harassing you? He found out where you moved to, Jongin, where you go to school. Hell, he even found out that you had a performance today – complete with the location and time. If he’s willing to go through all that just to find you, what’s to say he won’t do anything to you?”

Jongin wets his lips with his tongue and ignores how dry the inside of his mouth feels. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of screwing up my life again. Do you understand? I need this life to be something stable I can hold on to; I need you with _me_ , not him.”

The head of the dance department is on stage, and her bubbly voice resonates throughout the theatre. Backstage, Sehun sighs and slumps against a wall.

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “As long as you promise to tell me if he ever lays a hand on you.”

“I will. I promise.”

Pulling Sehun a little closer, Jongin’s just about to lean in for a much needed kiss when Sehun grabs him by the arm and twists him around.

“What’s this,” Sehun demands. Alarmed, Jongin looks down at his arm and sees a large, red spot that is sure to develop into a nasty bruise over the next couple of days. “How did you get this?”

Jongin’s mind blanks for a horrifying second before it comes back to him.

“I ran into something backstage when I was hurrying back for my things,” Jongin explains. “It’s dark and I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.”

Sehun opens his mouth to say something, but the department head is wrapping up her speech and the dancers are due onstage for their final bow soon. Jongin drops his bag and cups Sehun’s face with firm hands.

“You’ll slowly discover how clumsy I really am,” Jongin assures him. There are voices coming down the hall as the rest of the dancers leave the dressing room, still chatting away.

Jongin leans in and steals a kiss from a slightly breathless Sehun.

“If water has the ability to erode rocks and stone, I have the ability to put him behind me. I just need you to believe me.”

The voices are nearing; the speech is drawing to a close.

“I believe you,” Sehun says, and he does. Jongin smiles and presses another kiss to the angular curve of Sehun’s cheekbone.

A few seconds later, Sehun’s standing by himself backstage as Jongin heads back into the spotlights. Sehun watches as Jongin joins hands with his fellow dancers and bows, and he claps along with the rest of the audience as the curtains fall slowly, gracefully, surely.

 

 

 

  
“So,” Jongin starts, as they make their way back to their room. It’s nighttime by now, the whole group having gone out for dinner as a way of congratulating Jongin for finishing undergrad spectacularly. “What made you think you could introduce yourself as my boyfriend?”

Sehun blanches, but Jongin laughs and continues, “I don’t remember you actually asking me. Ask me.”

“I just assumed –”

“Ask me,” Jongin teases. “Here, I’ll even say it for you, you just have to repeat after me. ‘Jongin, will you be –’”

Heat is tickling at his collar, and Sehun really wants to wipe that grin off Jongin’s face.

“Jongin, will you,” Sehun pauses and looks into Jongin’s expectant eyes seriously. “Buy me ice cream? I just remembered we haven’t had dessert.”

Jongin punches him square in the arm.

“I was going to ask you to be my boyfriend after I got ice cream but I guess that’s not going to happen anymore,” Sehun sighs in mock sadness.

Jongin hits him again, but Sehun takes it in stride. They pass a quiet part of the neighbourhood park – no one’s around, and the sparsely spaced streetlamps shed just enough of a glow to illuminate the place. Jongin turns and stops Sehun in his tracks.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Dance,” Jongin repeats, lacing their fingers together and stepping into Sehun’s personal space. So Sehun does, choosing to pull Jongin that much closer with an arm slung around his shoulders.

There seems to be a very poignant rhythm in Jongin’s head, and Sehun simply follows it.

“You _will_ be my boyfriend, right?” Sehun says after a while. There's a hint of uncertainty in his voice, the sound shooting straight into Jongin's heart. Jongin holds on just a little tighter. 

“If I say yes, does that mean I won’t have to buy you ice cream later?”

Sehun feels Jongin’s smile against his cheek and he closes his eyes, content.

**Author's Note:**

> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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